


Alstroemeria

by lar_a



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Even more AU as of FF12, Gen, Kind of a what-if, Platonic Relationship, Relationship Negotiation, Semi-Unreliable Narrator, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar_a/pseuds/lar_a
Summary: Riddle's marriage law changes a couple things for Harry Potter.
Relationships: Harry Potter | Rigel Black & Aldon Rosier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 94
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 1





	Alstroemeria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercuryandglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryandglass/gifts).



The news came in the claws of a brown owl that winged into the Great Hall one Friday in early April. The owl dropped a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ before Millicent and she snapped it up, unrolling it quickly to reveal the headline that had been half-hidden by the folds.

“Oh,” Pansy gasped softly, and then Rigel felt a hand on her elbow.

“Yes?” She asked, turning her attention from her breakfast.

“It’s the marriage law,” Pansy began, and the dread that had settled into Rigel over months began to churn again. “It passed the Wizengamot last night.”

The chatter in the Great Hall was picking up around them, shocked voices breaking out over the crowd. “What does it say?” Rigel murmured, mind racing. 

“The article doesn’t give much detail, of course,” Pansy said. She took the paper from Millicent with a grateful smile when the other girl finished with it. She snapped it open to the continuing page, eyes scanning quickly. She tilted the pages towards Rigel, saying, “The law goes into effect on the summer solstice.”

Rigel clamped down on the nausea that wanted to grow in her stomach, flicking a glance over at Draco, who sat across the table. He was listening, of course, but she could see the tightness around his eyes. Not nearly as bad as it had been at the World Cup, but she could tell the shock and confusion that was sweeping the students had taken him by surprise. Most of them wouldn’t have known the law was even in the works. The ominous headline— **Riddle’s New Plan To Save Our World! The Society Support Reforms Pass** —certainly wasn’t helping matters. Dom hadn’t sent her any warning, so she hoped his distraction had been enough that he missed the fear that the news had sent through her. Not just Draco, for that matter. She looked sideways at Pansy, but she was focused on the article. Rigel’s eyes slid then to Rosier. 

He was looking at her with an inscrutable expression. He sat a few seats down, across the table, and hadn’t drawn attention by turning to her but rather simply lifted his gaze from where he had been reading the paper with Rookwood. When their eyes met he held her gaze steadily, then started to smile.

Rigel skipped anger and went straight to disbelief. What was he thinking? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he looked almost victorious. He knew the days of her engagement were numbered. But thinking logically over his recent behavior, that couldn’t be it, right? She couldn’t read him at all. Some of her frustration must’ve made it to her gaze because Rosier’s smile faltered, and when it did she turned back to her breakfast. A beat later she felt ashamed. She shouldn’t alienate him, considering… well. He wasn’t wrong, was he.

Pansy pulled her attention again, pointing to a few lines in the article. Interviews from the Wizengamot chamber, after the council was dismissed. Naturally, Riddle hadn’t been able to resist getting a word in. There was a quote from him, thanking his Party members for their support, full of self-congratulatory language. Talking about how beneficial the coming changes would prove themselves. And, _“I foresee these new reforms being very helpful for our heirs, in particular.”_

Rigel put her silverware down. Suddenly she wasn’t so keen to finish her breakfast. 

Friday mornings were busy with a block Healing class, so it wasn’t until lunchtime that she was able to sequester herself in an unused classroom and dig the two-way mirror out of her bag, setting the Marauder's Map on a desk so she could keep an eye on the corridors around her.

“Archie,” Rigel hissed at the mirror. She knew it would be early morning where he was, so she was glad when not a minute later the surface rippled, her reflection changing minutely into the face of her cousin. “Archie, I don’t know what to do,” she said, cutting off his greeting.

“What happened?” Archie asked, his automatic smile fading. “Are you okay?”

“Not for long,” Rigel muttered. “It’s Riddle. He’s passed the marriage law.”

“He’s done what!?” Archie stifled his yelp. The scene behind him, which had shown his pillows and the corner of his dorm bed, shifted as he scrambled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

“It was in the _Prophet_ this morning. He must’ve pushed the vote through,” Rigel continued. “We knew he was trying to get it passed before the end of the tournament, but I thought we had more time.”

“What does this mean for your deal with him? You still have to compete in the tournament, right?” 

“I don’t know. And yes. I don’t know what more he’ll try to get out of it, though.” Rigel tried not to let her frustration show on her face. “I expect we’ll see his hand sometime soon, though. The tournament doesn’t continue until after the holiday, but he won’t wait to advance his plans with the new laws.”

“He’s coming for us soon, isn’t he,” Archie murmured, fully aware of how Riddle intended to target the him that was Heir Black. Rigel could only nod. “It’s okay, Harry. We have a plan for this.”

Rigel raised her head to look at him. “We do?”

“Yep! I laid the foundations during the Yule Ball.” 

“The—wait, no,” Rigel grimaced. “Please tell me you aren’t serious. Rosier?”

“Of course I’m not! But H—Rigel, really, I know you don’t like it, but he’s our best bet right now,” Archie said.

“We’re already engaged, isn’t that enough?”

“You know Riddle’s going to change that as soon as he can,” Archie frowned. “Wouldn’t you rather be one step ahead of him for once?”

“He wouldn’t buy it,” Rigel tried. 

“He might,” Archie argued, “if he sees it not as you protecting yourself, but rather Rigel giving up himself to protect Harry. That’s just the sort of thing he’d expect, right?”

Rigel frowned, thinking it over. “Maybe.”

“Then it’s decided. You should talk to him, tell him to talk to—well, you. Preferably soon, before Riddle comes crawling out of the woodwork.”

“He’s in Riddle’s Party, though,” Rigel realized. “He’s just as stuck as we are—if not more.”

“His _family_ is in the Party,” Archie corrected. “From what I heard at the Ball, he’s not very interested in politics himself. And hasn’t he approached you himself? He’s the one who told us about the algorithm. I’d say there’s a chance.”

“He was smirking at me over the paper, you know,” Rigel groused. “He’s already so smug.”

“That’s probably going to get worse,” Archie warned her, a smile on his lips. “You’re going to have to ask him yourself.”

“Just send me his letter when it gets to you,” Rigel said, and silenced the mirror.

* * *

Rigel knew Aldon Rosier could be elusive when he wanted to, and their schedules didn’t particularly match up this year—as evidenced by the few weeks for which he had successfully avoided her at the beginning of term. Rigel’s first instinct was to ask Pansy to help in cornering him again, but when she stepped through the common room entrance that evening—having put off the conversation for as long as she could bear, and sufficiently long enough that most of their House had gone to bed—he was sitting at one of the study tables. The way his eyes flicked up to hers the moment the entrance opened left no pretense that he had been doing anything other than waiting for her. 

Steeling her will, she ignored Rosier’s heavy gaze to deposit her bag in her dorm. Returning to the common room, she spared a moment to search out her friends—at a table decently far from the seventh-years, sitting with Blaise and working on homework. Rigel managed an everything-is-fine nod when Pansy caught her eyes before she turned away, approaching Rosier’s table.

“Hello, Rigel. What brings you by?” Rookwood asked, leveling her a steady look.

Rigel watched as Rosier stopped writing and set his quill aside, looking up at her. “May I borrow Aldon for a moment?” 

“Of course,” Rosier said, flicking his wand over his essay, drying the ink. He rose with a pleasant smile, grabbing his evening over-cloak from the back of his chair and angling his head toward Rookwood to say, “I’ll be back before you retire, I expect.”

Rigel nodded, gesturing towards the common room door as they left the table. “Would you join me for a walk?”

“Where to?”

“Just around the dungeons,” Rigel said, pausing for a moment outside the entrance so Rosier could fasten his cloak around his shoulders. Once sufficiently attired, they started out on a path that would lead them essentially nowhere, meandering around the dungeons and back to the common room.

Rosier followed her lead easily enough, and for a while she thought he might wait for her to speak, but as they drew decently far from the common room and before she could gather her thoughts, he asked, “What finds us here tonight, Rigel?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“I’m afraid I do. I wouldn’t want to assume anything,” Rosier said, adopting an innocent expression she didn’t buy for a minute.

“The marriage law passed last night,” she began.

“Among other things,” Rosier agreed, closing his mouth when she shot him a quelling look. He gestured for her to continue.

“I have,” she tried, biting the words out. “A favor to ask. Of you.”

“And what might that be?” She could practically hear the purr in his voice.

Rigel decided to just get it over with. “Harry and I are breaking our engagement, and she will need someone to protect her. Do you still wish to court her?

“Are you giving me your blessing?”

“I am asking,” Rigel grit out, “for your help.” Rosier’s eyes widened, and she lifted a hand before he could remark on the change in her behavior since they last spoke on the topic. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, please.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard at all, Rigel.” Rosier sighed, but nevertheless he straightened and the delight in his expression changed for solemnity. “You wouldn’t stay engaged to her for your own sake?”

“What? No,” Rigel said, blinking. “No,” she repeated, stronger. “He’ll never let it stand. Not until that—that _incredibly_ invasive law is repealed. Not until… _something_ changes.” Rosier was looking at her with interest, and she blanked her face, returning to the original topic. “Besides, our engagement was to protect her, anyways.”

“I knew it,” Rosier said offhandedly, and Rigel suppressed a sigh.

“Now that our it is doing rather the opposite, she needs a new one.”

“Ever the romantic, you are,” Rosier chuckled. “But I understand. Will she?”

“What do you mean?” Rigel asked, frowning.

“Anyone could see how besotted she is with Ms. Granger,” Rosier said, casual tone in his voice not matching the sharpness in his eyes. “Do you intend for me to interfere with that?”

“That’s—no,” Rigel grimaced. “I don’t want to sabotage her happiness, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t try, either.”

“Even if they are never to be?”

“Then that is for them to figure out,” Rigel said firmly. “There’s more to it than you know,” she added, hoping the mystery would intrigue him enough to drop the subject for now.

“While I don’t like the idea of letting my fiancée court someone else, I’ll let it rest,” Rosier allowed, and she knew he had taken the bait. “I should discuss it with her, not you, I think.”

“Yes. And, technically, I cannot promise you she will agree,” Rigel cautioned, feeling a bit awkward as she did so. “I’ve spoken to her about this already, but her choices are her own.”

“Of course,” Rosier agreed smoothly, dipping his head in acknowledgement. When he straightened again he looked bizarrely glad. “Well said. Thank you for asking me, Rigel.”

Rigel stared up at him for a drawn out moment. He had agreed to this far too quickly, and she remembered how he had seemed to waver in his decision to court her-as-Harry the last time they spoke. Remembered the reason why. Something in her wanted to protect… herself? Archie? Hermione? A convoluted mix of people that led to her adding, voice flat, “She is a halfblood.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Rosier replied, nothing changing in his face but the raising of an eyebrow. 

“That’s not going to be an issue?” Rigel challenged.

“Have you so little faith in me?” Rosier’s voice was mild, but his expression was growing tight. 

_Yes_ , was her instinctual thought, but he had been perfectly cordial at the Gala when they met and she was Harry. And it had been many weeks since he had first asked for her permission to court… well, her, not that he was aware of that. His sincerity, and his interest, seemed to have not wavered. If anything, he was more convicted, not stumbling over the reminder of her blood status as he had last time. Rigel was a little put-off, if she was being honest. 

“Very well,” she said eventually. “I… have nothing more to say. Thank you, Rosier.”

“Aldon,” Rosier sighed. “And thank you. I know this was hard, even though I was trying to make it easier for you.”

“What was that look for at breakfast, then?” Rigel blurted before she could stop herself.

“What look?” Aldon looked bewildered. 

“Over the newspaper,” Rigel said, face falling into a scowl once more as she remembered it.

“I was trying to be reassuring,” Aldon said, eyebrows rising. He then smiled in humor that Rigel found entirely too fond. “Of course, you didn’t see it that way, did you. I suppose my behavior this evening hasn’t helped.” He raised his hands briefly, palms out in the gesture of calm. “I mean no disrespect. I’m amazed you were able to come to me, but I’m glad that you did.”

“Well, now that I have, will you do it?” Rigel sighed. “Will you help me, Aldon?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

The following Monday brought a letter from Archie, the plain black-ink ‘Rigel’ in front leaving her no doubts as to what it contained. She tucked it away in her book bag, and when she had a moment alone between Transfiguration and Herbology, she cracked it open.

Inside was another envelope, this one addressed with neat penmanship to Harry Potter. The envelope and card were smooth and cream-colored, clearly made of formal stationary. With how quickly it had gotten to her, through Archie in America and back again, Rosier must have sent it before noon on Saturday. 

_Miss Potter,_

_How does this letter find you? In writing this I realize the schedules and demands of your life are a mystery to me. Perhaps this could be rectified in the near future._

_A mutual friend of ours has asked that I reach out to you regarding a matter about which you are surely aware. As it is of some time sensitivity, would you be willing to meet with me on the morning of the first Sunday of the Spring Holiday?_

_Highest regards,_

_Aldon_

That sounded about as ominous as Rigel had expected. Given the nature of the request, it was up to her to name the place of their meeting. She had already discussed it with Archie over the weekend, and they had determined where they thought was best—a place where she would have the home advantage, would give them privacy, and was suitably traditional enough that Rosier wouldn’t be put off. She wrote out a reply on a fresh piece of parchment to send off from the Owlrey before dinner. 

_Aldon,_

_Life at AIM is as busy as ever, but I am in good health besides. I would ask the same of you. Hopefully you are not too busy with your studies?_

_Consider this an invitation to Potter Place, in Godrick’s Hollow. Would 10:00 Sunday work for you?_

_Best,_

_Harry_

* * *

The week until spring break could not have passed more agonizingly slowly. Rigel received a confirmation letter from Aldon two days later (via Archie again), and the weight of it in her bag stuck in her mind for the remaining few days. She could barely meet Aldon’s eyes, in the meantime, and in a strange twist of fate, she put effort into separating her lives. Here, where she was Rigel, he was Rosier. When she was Harry, he would be Aldon. Harry would never let herself be embarrassed in front of him, she swore.

Unfortunately, it only helped a little bit—it was Rigel that was embarrassed around Rosier, it seemed—so she put it from her mind entirely, hoping time and the break would settle her.

The Hogwarts express departed from school at 11:00 on Saturday, and the switch back with Archie went smoothly, so by that evening, after a joint family dinner, they were sitting on the floor in her room and debriefing. After skimming over the events that had befallen them since winter break, rehashing details their parents might ask them about, they went over the plans for the next day’s meeting.

Archie frowned. “Should I be there to introduce you or something?”

“We’ve already met,” Harry reminded him. “And he’s too perceptive, besides.”

“I’d rather not try to be Rigel around him,” Archie admitted. “He was positively keen during the Yule Ball, when I was Harry. How do you manage him all the time?”

“Wasn’t this your idea?” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, and I stand by it,” Archie sighed. “I’ll stay home, but update me as soon as he leaves.”

Sunday morning dawned bright and far too well-weathered. She woke early, as usual, and when she came downstairs Lily and James were up and getting ready for Dumbledore’s get-together. James had guard detail for the Minister again, and Lily had decided to go in early with him since Addy would be able to last until afternoon before she needed to go down for a nap. Lily was just putting the last finishing touches on Addy’s curls in the floo room as Harry passed to get to the kitchen for breakfast, and she waved briefly. Harry happened along James in the hallway and gave him a hug, and then the fireplace flared once, twice, and they were gone.

Harry had about half an hour to get ready. She resisted the little voice in her head that sounded like Pansy, telling her that she was in no way dressed adequately to meet a suitor, and checked in with the other little voice in her head instead, smoothing down her restless emotions and reinforcing her shields. She had no reason to suspect Aldon had any proficiency in Occlumency, or that he would use it if it did, but doing so helped her focus. 

Finally, the time had come. Harry made sure she was in the floo room to greet him, and not two minutes after she took up post did the fireplace flare green and her guest step through.

She saw immediately that she should have listened to Pansy. While he wasn’t dressed quite as formally as one might for, say, a Gala, he had clearly put some effort into his appearance and was wearing neatly-trimmed robes that complimented his features and spoke to his wealth. Harry, meanwhile, was in her daily wear, but Aldon looked not put out by it at all as he smiled at her.

“Harry,” he said in greeting, bowing slightly. Harry raised an eyebrow. He sure was trying to put his best foot forward. He came up out of the bow, asking, “Are your parents around?”

“My parents are not here at the moment,” Harry said, finding herself involuntarily grateful when no surprise crossed his face. Instead, a flicker of recognition, a false start towards something dark, before he settled on understanding. She suspected he had understood something entirely wrong, but it was easier that he didn’t ask. 

Instead, he went right on to say, “I see. I had been hoping to meet them, but perhaps speaking with you first would be more apt, in this situation.”

Her somewhat-disreputable family was known for not following tradition, he didn’t say. Her approval was more important than her father’s, he was gambling. 

“I’ll introduce you to them sometime,” Harry promised. 

“Please do,” Aldon agreed, and he stood there patiently for a moment before Harry gestured towards the door.

“Will you come through to the garden?” she asked, feeling rather like she had when she was greeting all the guests for Sirius’ birthday for one absurd moment. He followed her through the house, looking with interest around at the furnishings, the photos on the walls, but didn’t comment on them, instead starting up a conversation about how her travels treated her, what her plans were for break, thanking her for taking the time to meet her…

Harry led them to a glassy table her family had set up outside for anyone who might want to eat or study there. She rarely used it, but the garden was nice enough and she felt a little strange at the idea of having this conversation in her house. Aldon pulled out her chair for her as they approached, and she gave him a closed-mouth smile as she sat. He sat down across from her, and as her responses to his small-talk became less involved, obligingly laid his cards on the table. 

“As you know, Rigel approached me about a week ago about your engagement to him,” Aldon said, and she sat up a little straighter as they finally approached the topic. 

“Yes, he and I have spoken about it,” Harry confirmed.

“He told me you were breaking it,” Aldon said, a leading tone in his voice.

“We decided on it mutually,” Harry corrected. “And I’m sure you know why.”

Aldon hummed noncommittally. “Have you given what I said to you at the Yule Ball any thought?”

“I have,” she said. She found herself wishing he would just get to the point, and never get to the point at the same time. As this was a ridiculous feeling to have, she told herself to stop it, firmly. 

“Yes, well, the situation has changed a bit now,” Aldon said, and for a moment she was concerned, cursing Archie for not telling her what they spoke about, until he continued, “Harry, would you be willing to enter in an engagement agreement with me?”

“Why on earth would you say it that way?” Harry said, and he cracked a smile.

“I thought you might object to the words ‘will you marry me,’” he said, wry.

Harry suppressed a sudden urge to back away, despite the fact that she was sitting. Grimacing slightly, she nodded. He wasn’t wrong. 

“So?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He looked nonplussed. “Why what?”

Harry knew this had been what they were hoping for, was her best chance in the current climate, that he was really doing her a big favor. But she had to know. “Why would you ask?”

“Rigel asked me to,” Aldon said, a little blank. She knew he knew that she had known what this conversation would be about, too. But she tried to push through his confusion.

“I know. But why would you agree? Why should I?” She resisted the urge to tilt her chin at him in defiance, daring him to bring up that with the new laws, if he waited but a few months, she couldn’t technically refuse.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her. “I could go over some of my family’s portfolio, but something tells me you’re not interested in that.”

“Decidedly not,” Harry agreed, wrinkling her nose.

“If it is of any reassurance to you, I give you my word that if you wish to break it off in the future, should that become an option again, I will not object,” Aldon said, leaning forward to show his earnestness.

Harry blinked a couple times. “Really? But… in the future you will need a partner.”

“Yes,” Aldon agreed. “I’m well aware of my position.”

“Then shouldn’t you not waste your time on someone you know will eventually leave you?”

A flicker of hurt crossed his expression. “You sound so sure.”

“I… to be honest, I don’t really want to get married. I don’t want to be courted,” Harry said, her gaze dropping to the table. “Your offer is… very kind, but I don’t want… that.” 

Aldon stood there for a moment in silence, and she could feel him studying her. What was he thinking? What was the expression on his face? She could see his hands, and they weren’t clenched or worrying the fabric of his robes. Instead, he sounded absolutely relaxed when he said, “Alright.”

“Alright—what?” Harry looked up at him.

“I would make my offer again,” he said. “Harry, will you accept my engagement if I give you my word it will be platonic?”

“That’s—” _perfect_ , Harry almost said, mouth going dry.

“Everything I said before still stands,” Aldon said, like he hadn’t completely blown her expectations away. “In fact, this agreement may turn out looking a lot like what you had with Rigel, if you wish. And if you are unable to break this contract in the future, and we are to be wed, then we can reap the benefits and make no sacrifices.”

Harry just stared at him, knowing her disbelief was clear as day upon her features. The little bit of his confidence that had faded returned to him, and a little bit of laughter curled his smile before he smoothed it back out. He was completely sincere as he said, “I will not ask of you anything you are not willing to give.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathed out, and didn’t even mind how pleased he looked to hear it.

“Then will you accept?”

“Something tells me your parents wouldn’t particularly approve,” Harry pointed out. Aldon’s smile creased, growing minutely darker. Her own good mood stuttered.

“I don’t particularly care for their approval, as it is.” 

Harry remembered a conversation on a darkened balcony, where Aldon confided in Rigel and claimed to see that same distaste for family in his future. The memory just served to make her more reluctant, seeing the differences between them, no matter what Aldon said, and she bristled. “I’m not here to be your rebellion."

“Of course not,” Aldon said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He dropped one and extended the other towards her. “But if it comes to it, wouldn’t you rather have someone to rebel with?”

“I have Rigel for that,” she said. After all, wasn’t that what she and Archie had been doing since the beginning? Rebelling against the roles Society would have them play, in their own clandestine way? Not that it had done anyone much good, as of yet. More brought trouble for everyone—she bit off that train of thought before she could get distracted.

Aldon was shaking his head. “Rigel’s too caught up in it, can’t you tell? That’s why he came to me.” Seeing she was still unconvinced, he dropped his arm, adding, “He was finally able to ask for help. The best way we can do that right now is to alleviate his burdens—we need to _not_ rely on him.”

“You mean _I_ have to stop relying on him,” Harry said, voice dry.

“I don’t mean to imply that you are a burden,” Aldon said. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You have accomplished much already, and anyone can see that you’re going to go far. Including Rigel. He desperately wants to protect your future, but he overreaches. He seems to have taken on the responsibility for your life.”

“He hasn’t,” Harry muttered, but that wasn’t an argument she wanted to have just then. It did remind her, though—“You still have to get this past my father, you know.”

“You haven’t asked him?” Even as he asked it, Aldon was shaking his head. “No, I thought as much, actually.”

“I’ll talk to him first,” Harry promised.

“Please do,” Aldon requested. “But before that...” Harry inwardly balked at the smirk in his tone. “I’d like to invite you to lunch.”

“Excuse me?”

“As friends, of course. Platonic fiancées,” Aldon said. “Something casual. Red & Vin, perhaps? Or the Stonehaus?” 

In what way are either of those casual, Harry thought. Out loud, she said, “Don’t you need reservations?”

“They would seat us, I’m sure,” Aldon said, confident. “And they’re both suitably out-of-the-way.”

“How about Golding’s?” Harry threw out, naming a restaurant that she knew would take walk-ins, but she could reasonably guess he had been to before. 

“Well, I would have liked to take you somewhere nicer,” Aldon said, smoothing down the lapel of his semi-formal robes, “but I do enjoy their menu.”

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, Harry flooed over to Grimmauld Place to hunt down Archie. She found him in the library, comparing two books. One she recognized as his fourth-year noninfectious diseases textbook, the other, a particularly old text from the Black family library.

“Harry, I found that book you were looking for,” Archie said, pointing to a thick tome on the table next to him. “It’s a family heirloom, so my father was using it as a coaster in the living room.”

“Oh, thank you,” Harry said, momentarily derailed from her quest. The parchment in her hand reminded her. She lifted it. “Archie, look at this.”

“What is it?” He didn’t bother putting aside his work as she brandished it under his nose.

“Another note from Rosier,” Harry said. “He keeps wanting to meet. How do I tell him I’m busy?”

“You don’t. You go out, you relax, and you have fun,” Archie said, adopting a sagely tone.

Harry fixed him with a look. “I don’t have time to humor him, Archie.”

“You should make time, then. Look,” he said, facing her fully. “Two things. First of all, you need to take a break. You’re going to be under a lot of pressure again after this week, and you should use what time you have to give yourself some mental health care. Second, from his point of view, he hardly knows you. He’s really trying to put effort into this! You should do the same.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call time with Rosier ‘mental health care,’” Harry muttered, but she knew she was being churlish. She sighed, and Archie grinned, knowing he had won. “Okay, I’ll see what he wants, at least.”

“What did he want last time? When you went out to eat and left me in the dark for two hours?”

“To get to know me better,” Harry admitted.

“Exactly. See? So where does he want to meet?” Archie asked. Harry handed him the letter. “Fonsbena?”

“It’s a garden,” Harry said. “A conservatory. They also grow a couple species for potions. Mr. Tate sells some of their crops in his apothecary.”

“Kind of up your alley, then,” Archie said, handing the letter back. “You should go.”

Harry sighed, thinking of the tests she had wanted to run with the customized base that day. “Fine,” she said. She picked up the book Archie had found. “But I’m taking this.”

Fonsbena was reachable by floo, and Harry stumbled through to find herself in an open stone building decorated to be charming, with wide, tall windows to let in light and show peeks of the vast gardens outside. There were one or two small groups scattered around the room, looking at the art on the wall or chatting, but no Aldon Rosier. By each of the doors to the outside was a desk with an employee, and she wandered over to one to ask if she could see where they grew their ingredients. Unfortunately, the public wasn’t permitted to visit them, so she paid the entrance fee to the general gardens—a couple of sickles—before asking the employees manning the desk to let a taller boy with black hair and hazel eyes know she had gone on ahead, if he asked for her.

The grounds were sloped and perfectly manicured, paths of slate and marble cutting through hedges of roses, trellises draping with jasmine. Harry eyed a particularly robust patch of asters planted around a fountain, but knew it would be in bad taste to pick them for her kit. It was tempting, though. She wondered if they at least sold seeds in the guest house, but figured they most likely wouldn’t to avoid property law issues.

When Aldon found her, she was sitting on a stone bench that was tucked out of the way along a wall, shaded by tall cypress trees, and deeply engrossed in the text from that morning. 

“What are you reading?” Harry startled and looked up, half-surprised he had been able to sneak up on her, and half-registering that she had noticed him, just written him off as not a threat. Aldon smiled once he had her attention. “Hello, Harry.”

“It’s a Treatise on Multi-Stage Intersubstantial Potions Reactions,” Harry said, closing the tome on her hand so he could see the embossed cover. “How unsealed potions react to each other when taken simultaneously, basically.”

“Ah,” he said, eyebrows rising. “That sounds… intense. Like something NEWT-level, if not higher. I thought you said AIM’s potions track left something to be desired?”

“It does. Which is why I’m not in the potions track, which is why I self-study,” Harry said, lifting the book for emphasis. 

“Even out here, on this beautiful day, apparently,” Aldon said, angling to gesture at the whole of the gardens.

“Apparently,” Harry hummed, not commenting.

“This place isn’t to your taste, is it,” Aldon realized, looking around at the sculpted and swooping bushes of camellias and alstroemeria, then back to where she had parked herself on a bench in the shade, her back to the wall, the book in her lap. “Hm. Would you join me for a meal? Somewhere in Diagon. We could stop by the shops, if you have anything you’d like to pick up,” he offered. 

“Diagon?” Harry knew immediately what he was thinking. “You want to let people know we know each other.”

“It wouldn’t be a public declaration of intent, but our acquaintance would definitely be noted,” Aldon agreed.

“By who?” Harry wondered who he thought would be watching them in the alleys. There were always Leo’s eyes, but Aldon didn’t know that.

“Someone who knows someone who knows someone else,” Aldon waved a hand vaguely. “Likely the shopkeepers themselves. A lot of businesses in Diagon do business with Society in one way or another.”

Harry had a moment of dissonance. The Alleys had always seemed so disconnected from everything else, so safe in the way that Society ignored them. How could she forget that Diagon was perhaps as firmly in the Party’s hold as the Lower Alley’s were in the Court’s? Shaking her head minutely, she corrected herself—nothing had changed, the restaurants served patrons that had no knowledge of the places past Knockturn. And she had decided to be more careful in the Alleys in any case. 

“You make it sound like espionage,” Harry said, still a little unsettled at the idea of going to the place she had been going for years, only this time with the express purpose of being noticed. 

“Everything gets around eventually,” Aldon shrugged. And was it strange that she could suddenly feel the complete lack of privacy that came from cavorting with Society settling in around her shoulders once more? Somehow, it was only familiar.

They ended up at Aroma Alley, Harry not feeling particularly keen to visit any of the Diagon shops and Aldon not wanting to pick up anything. This time, instead of leading Aldon through Knockturn—she could only imagine his reaction—they took the Fonsbena floo straight to the Gallery, which Harry had learned was a large public court for eating or gathering, complete with several public floo connections, farther down Aroma than she usually went. Aldon stepped through after her, appearing in a grate a few down from the one she had come through, glancing around in interest at the wide courtyard that bustled with people.

They found a restaurant they were both interested in trying, one Harry had never been to before, and were quickly seated. Aldon charmed the hostess immediately with his fine looks, and Harry rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking. But she quickly realized it wasn’t just the hostess—many people were sneaking glances. It couldn’t all just be because of Aldon, could it? She ran a critical eye over him and supposed he looked nice enough, but surely this was over-the-top. 

Harry realized abruptly that of course it was—these people weren’t used to the subtleties of the social circles she had experienced, and they would talk, and eventually it would get back to someone who knew to find the information interesting. This was Aldon’s plan. She picked up her menu, nodding her thanks at their waiter as he put down a glass of water before her, but inside she was focused on the crawling sensation of all those gazes on her. How many of them were memorizing her appearance? Were any of them part of the Court? 

“Don’t worry,” Aldon said, somehow picking up on her discomfort. “People will always talk. It’s controlling what they know to talk about that’s the trick.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry sighed, focusing on the print before her. 

“You don’t like the spotlight, do you,” Aldon asked, but she could tell it was rhetorical. There was something amused in his gaze, and she felt profoundly caught off-guard by the recognition that flashed there for just a moment before it was gone. 

Harry managed a wry smile that was more of a grimace before their waiter returned, setting down their dishes before them. He asked if there was anything else he could help them with and Harry assured him they were fine, Aldon nodding amicably over the light soup he had ordered. 

“I asked you earlier, on Sunday, why you agreed to this,” Harry said once the waiter had left, as Aldon smiled with amusement down at the soup spoon they had given him. “You avoided the question. What’s in this for you?”

“And I told you, it’s no great sacrifice for me,” Aldon said pleasantly, lightly dipping a piece of bread. “I was never one for the social side of things, and I couldn’t care less that happens to my family name.”

“You’re avoiding it again,” Harry said, setting down her silverware and pinning him with her gaze. “Tell me. What do you think you’ll get out of this?

“Afraid I’m going to ask for something you can’t agree with, eventually?”

“Perhaps.” 

Aldon’s eyes widened briefly at her admission before softening. He chuckled. “You really are just like him. He was just the same when I intimated I wanted to be friends with him.”

“Rigel.” Harry’s brow furrowed. “You’re doing this for him?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” Aldon considered it around a bite. “It’s true he did ask me to do it, but you recall I had approached you before.”

“Yes,” Harry said, recalling nothing of the sort, since it had been Archie he approached at the Yule Ball.

“The reasons I gave you then were true. You’re clearly skilled in your field, and daring.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, I enjoy your company.”

“Riddle might try to change your mind,” she cautioned him.

“Lord Riddle?” He looked up from his menu with an expression of surprise. “He has shown an interest in you?”

“Well, in Rigel.”

“Of course,” Aldon murmured. “That is easy to see. In any case, as I said before, I don’t particularly care. If he targets my work, then I shall simply retire as the trophy husband I was meant to be.”

“Trophy—” 

While Harry was blinking over that declaration, he continued, “Besides, now that you and Rigel are no longer engaged, something tells me that Lord Riddle’s gaze will leave your shoulders.”

“It’d better,” Harry muttered.

Aldon considered her over his glass. “Has he shown a particular interest in you in the past?”

“Purely in relation to Rigel,” Harry admits. _Thankfully_.

“Then you shouldn’t worry about it,” he decided. 

Harry forced herself to relax a shade. He was right, and she was too on edge—any more of this and he might remark on how similar she was acting to Rigel. Again. He’d made that comparison several times before, hadn’t he? She should probably do something to distance the two of them in his mind. The waiter came, checking in with them, and left again just as quickly. When she looked back at Aldon, he had a considering look on his face as he studied her. She froze but tried to hide it, asking, “What is it?”

“What has you so concerned Lord Riddle will try to affect your life?”

“Nothing, really,” Harry said, brushing it off. “I suppose he’s been after Rigel for so long I got confused.”

“Usually, when someone is so afraid that someone powerful will turn their gaze on them, it’s because they have something to hide,” Aldon mused, studying her with interest. “Something they know will interest others.”

Harry couldn’t believe this was happening. She had been doing so well, she thought. Aldon had no reason to suspect Harry of anything—she had thought Rigel would take that spot. Why was he so willing to believe there were _two_ people with incredible secrets to protect!?

“Is there anything I should know about?” Aldon pressed, leaning slightly over the table. “At this point it would be only fair, particularly if you think someone might try to interfere with our engagement.”

“As a matter of fact, no,” Harry said, trying to shut down the conversation before he could get too far into a line of questioning. “There’s nothing you need to know.”

“You can trust me,” Rosier said, holding a hand to his chest. “I promise not to tell anyone. Just let me help you.”

“Sometimes the best way to get someone to trust you is to stop asking,” Harry said, skewering a piece of spinach with a particularly angry jab.

“Yes, I know,” Rosier replied, sounding a little impatient. Harry watched his expression closely as the determination in his curiosity abruptly shuttered, his face closing off. He was still smiling—they were in public, after all—but when he opened his eyes again he had found a different resolve. He was gentler. He had backed off.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both picking at their meals. “That used to bother you,” Harry said, trying to approach the situation delicately.

“It still does,” Aldon admitted, though his face betrayed no hurt. 

“Okay, well,” Harry floundered for a moment. “We can avoid this in the future, probably, if you can resist the temptation to ask about everything.”

“Why?” Aldon replied, exasperation creeping back into his tone. “Why are you both like this?”

“Because it’s stressful,” Harry said, trying to find a way to get him to understand without really telling him what was at stake.

“Having secrets?”

“Being asked about them all the time! Particularly by someone who—” Harry changed tracks as quickly as she could. “I— _we_ don’t like lying all the time, you know. 

“‘Someone who’ what?” Aldon asked, voice low.

“That’s not the point,” Harry said, insistent.

“No, I’d like to know,” Aldon pressed. She was afraid for a second that he was growing angry, but when she shot a glance at his face she could see a thinly-disguised hatred, a frustration, but tainted with sadness. A feeling of being trapped. He was afraid of what she thought of him, she realized. Just maybe, he wanted to change. 

“It’s hard to get a read on you sometimes,” Harry admitted, quiet. “Most of the time,” she corrected herself. “It’s just—I can’t tell what you want from me.”

“Hence the line of questioning earlier,” Aldon said, his tone blank but swiftly shifting to realization. “Have you considered that maybe I don’t want anything?” he asked, voice equally soft.

“There has to be _something._ ” There had to be. “What do you want out of life? What are your goals?”

Aldon blinked, physically shifting back in his seat. “In general?”

“I guess,” Harry said. “What do you want to do with your life, maybe?”

Aldon visibly sought for something to say, looking increasingly flustered until he managed to subdue himself. He quickly shifted to a teasing approach. “Now who’s being forward with the questions?”

“These are all questions you asked me on Sunday,” Harry pointed out. “Albeit in not so many words,” she allowed.

“I... don’t really know what I want, if I’m to be honest. I don’t know who I want to be. Who I can be,” Aldon said, and there was a heaviness behind the words that Harry wasn’t anticipating. “There. That’s not too hard, is it? Honesty.”

Harry rather thought it might’ve been, by the pained smile he was giving her. She opened her mouth to comment, but he deflected. “If nothing else, life with you is sure to be entertaining,” Aldon chuckles, raising his glass in a half-salute. “Especially if we have any more conversations half as riveting as this one.”

“So you’re just in it because you find it fun?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aldon said, frowning at her. “Do you mean our engagement? I decided to court you because you interested me as a person. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Harry said bluntly. “Are you sure there’s no other reason?”

“I suppose, if simply wanting to have the companionship of a talented, intelligent woman is not enough of a reason, then yes.” Aldon sighed. “I am ‘in it’ for my own amusement. Is that what you expected me to say?”

It was definitely more believable, to Harry’s mind. She tapped her fingers on the table as she considered him, and he gave her an exasperated look while she decided. “...Okay.”

“Thank goodness,” Aldon snarked, turning back to his meal. 

“Perhaps I am too used to dealing with Slytherins,” Harry said, allowing herself to chuckle as she similarly tucked back in. 

“And you have much experience with Slytherins?” Aldon asked, quirking an eyebrow at her, light laughter once again setting into his expression.

“One or two,” Harry replied, lifting one corner of her lips in a small smirk.

* * *

Early afternoon on the last Saturday of the break, Harry was brewing a few extra potions for her kit, preparing for whatever might happen once term resumed. Her mother had taken the day off, which meant she could use the home lab, and Archie had joined her to go over their last checks before they switched again the next morning. Packing lists, things they wanted to remember, restocking Harry’s potions kit with essentials, advice on wooing Hermione—of which Harry had none to give.

“I’m going to tell her,” Archie declared, bumping a fist on the table he sat at, set up against the wall and out of the danger zone in case of any accidents. “I really am. I was planning to do it earlier, but then the tournament and everything… Do you think I should do it before or after finals? She’ll want to study, but I don’t want to do it right before summer…”

“Almost sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of it, cuz,” Harry said from where she stood at a counter, brewing. She had her potions kit out next to her and counted out twelve empty vials.

“I’m not,” Archie insisted. “It’s just—I don’t want to distract her, and summer will give me time to recover if she rejects me… Maybe I should do it on the last weekend.”

“You really think she’ll turn you down?”

“No,” Archie smiled happily, leaning back in the chair. “Or, well, I hope not.” He looked up when footsteps started down the stairs outside the door, and they were both looking over when Harry’s dad poked his head in the lab. 

“Hi, Uncle!” Archie greeted with a wave.

“Archie,” James returned. “Harry.” He looked grumpy, and Harry’s attention was immediately grabbed, because that expression usually meant a particular age range of young men. “You have a visitor.”

“I’ll… be right up?” Harry said, but she turned to frown over her potion, which was at a stage that couldn’t be halted. 

“He could come down, right?” Archie suggested, understanding the look. 

James made an inarticulate noise of protest. “I have to go into the office. Let me grab Lily, don’t move.”

Before he could leave, Archie added, “I can stay down here with them, Uncle. Lily’s busy with Addy. I’ll chaperone.” He said it with a grin that promised trouble, and James smiled gratefully at his apparent ally.

As he left to fetch the not-so-mysterious visitor, Harry raised an eyebrow at Archie, counting the stirs she was doing with one hand. “Trying to fish for blackmail?”

“Nah.” Archie waved a hand, dismissing the idea. Growing more serious, he added, “I don’t want to spend too much time around him and tip him off to anything. I’ll duck out as soon as James leaves. In the meantime…” He stood up, sidling over to one of the bookcases against the wall and grabbing a book at random. “ _Cyclic Energy Siphoning in Membrane Lattices_. Amazing. Can I borrow this? I want to look busy.”

“It’s all yours,” Harry said, and Archie collected parchment and a self-inking quill on the way back over to the desk. “Don’t run away too quickly,” she added, as a different set of footsteps began to echo down the stairs.

The door swung carefully open to admit Aldon a few seconds later. He scanned the room curiously, lingering on Archie, who looked convincingly buried in his book, and for some reason, Archie’s shoes. A moment later, Aldon had fixed her with a smile. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello.” Harry nodded at his inquisitive look when he gestured to ask if he may approach, and glanced at the door, which he had left partially open. “Hasn’t left yet, has he?”

“I don’t think he’s planning to,” Aldon confirmed, but there was only humor in the words. He stopped a safe distance from the counter, peering at the simmering solution in the cauldron. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Harry assured him. She swept the mint she had chopped off the cutting board and into the cauldron with her knife, before setting both to the side and picking up the stirring rod again. “This particular potion doesn’t require too much attention.”

“What is it?” 

“Cough Relief.” She smiled at his subtly surprised expression. “Not everything I brew is for research. Or, excuse me, something ‘NEWT-sounding.’”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, though,” Aldon said. “What would you say this one is?”

“By Hogwarts standards, perhaps third year. By AIM, fifth,” she replied dryly. 

“Ah, yes. And when should I expect to hear that you’ve redesigned their entire program?”

“Who knows, maybe someday.”

“When you return as a teacher, perhaps?”

Harry hummed noncommittally. “I don’t think so.”

“A pity for them, then,” Aldon said. He looked into the cauldron. “What’s the occasion? Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “This is preparation. For the rest of term.”

“Rigel’s kit, is it not?” Aldon asked, glancing over the latches and casing of the potions kit open on the counter.

Harry saw Archie look up in brief worry, but she simply said, “Yes. He’s trying to work on his research before the tournament resumes again, so I offered to restock.”

“Supporting him how you can?” Aldon threw a glance over his shoulder, but Archie was already seemingly consumed again, scratching something on the parchment that Harry would bet was just nonsense. Aldon turned back to her. “That’s very kind of you.”

“He would do the same for me, if I were in his place.” And if he had any desire to brew potions. And she didn’t. She brought her attention back to the conversation, lowering the heat on the cauldron at the same time. “What brings you here today? Surely not to gripe over sub-standard potions curricula.”

“I wanted to say goodbye, actually. Since we head back to school tomorrow I imagine I will not be seeing you for some time.”

“Probably not,” Harry agreed. At least not for two months, he was thinking. Maybe two days, she knew. 

“So, goodbye,” Aldon chuckled a little, acknowledging the formality of the situation. “Please take care.”

“I’ll try my best.” Harry supposed that was the best she could agree to, in any case. “You as well. Good luck on your NEWTs.”

“Thank you,” Aldon said. “It’s going to be hard to study with all the excitement around the tournament in the castle. It’s going to be a busy end of term.”

Harry nodded absentmindedly, connecting to the potion to start imbuing.

“I don’t suppose we need to make any plans for a declaration, though,” Aldon mused. “It would be fun, though. Can you imagine the looks on everyone’s faces? They would be so surprised.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?” Harry supposed it wouldn’t really matter if he did, but she was still a bit unsettled by the less-than-kind glee that lurked in his eyes at the thought.

“My friend Edmund, if you don’t mind. Rookwood, that is,” he clarified, smiling more honestly now, “you met at the Gala last year.”

“I remember,” Harry said. “Him and Miss Selwyn.”

“Yes,” Aldon said, clearly fond. “I am glad you got along well. You’ll likely be seeing more of each other. At least telling him should be fun. This’ll be something Edmund didn’t expect from me at all.”

An uncomfortable feeling returned to Harry’s stomach as she ran the potion through a filter, busying herself in the work to distract from the sensation. She had felt it enough to recognize that it came when Aldon spoke about the humor he derived from the whole situation. She didn’t like him taking it so lightly, she supposed. 

“Is something wrong?” Aldon asked, managing again to tell that something was bothering her.

“No,” Harry said, managing to stop herself from being curt. “This step just needed a bit more attention.” She was at break in the stirring, actually, and she picked up a flat-edged steel scraper to skim off the frothy layer that had collected on top of the potion. “This is almost done, actually. I can walk you up.”

“If you’re sure.” Aldon nodded agreeably and chattered on about an interesting concept which had come up in his Charms studies—personalized enchantments attached to specific people’s mental framework, which Harry found sounded rather similar to something she had read while researching mental magic—as Harry transferred the potion into vials and cleaned up the counter. She scribbled the name and date on the vials’ labels, lining them up in front of her potions kit instead of taking the time to stow them completely away. She turned to wash her hands off at the sink and take off her brewing over-robe, and when she turned back Aldon had picked up one of the vials of Cough Relief and was studying it.

“Ready to go?”

Aldon hummed, and Harry paused. She did not like how focused he was on those potions. She shared a confused look with Archie’s panicked one behind Aldon’s back, one that involved a lot of expressive eye movements and shrugging and hand gestures. Finally, Harry spoke, resisting the urge to clear her throat and somehow give credence to the sudden tension in the room. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Aldon said, and the tension dropped for a moment until he continued, “I think I just got something right.” He lifted his head to look at her, and she almost flinched from the shock and victory in his expression. He turned the vial he held until she could see the label. “You just made these. I saw you write this. So why does your handwriting match Rigel’s?”

“Does it?”

“I’m certain. I’ve seen enough of his to recognize it. Always so narrow, you see—it makes it hard to read.” Harry didn’t respond to the unspoken accusation, not exactly sure what he thought he had worked out. Her mind was racing, unsure how to continue. She didn’t want to confirm anything he hadn’t connected yet. “It is Rigel’s handwriting on these vials. And if I’m not mistaken, it’ll be on every potion in this kit.”

“I told you, I restocked it.” Aldon turned his gaze to the kit, and Harry had a frantic conversation with Archie, this time with more eyebrows and mouthed words. Archie gestured towards the door—should he leave before Aldon had a chance to turn on him?—and Harry shook her head minutely—it would only make them look more suspect—but Archie pointed out that as soon as Aldon thought to speak with him, they would be done for, anyway—

“The whole thing? You’re telling me Rigel used up his—” Aldon pulled a random potion from its spot “—Erumpent horn polish recently?”

“Actually, that particular one went bad _because_ he hadn’t used it—” Harry cut herself off when Aldon’s expression became almost reproachful.

“The letters.” Aldon’s eyes widened, and Harry’s stomach dropped. “I kept the letters you sent me. I wonder, if I ask Draco for one of Rigel’s letters, will they match?”

“That’s—please don’t,” Harry tried, grasping at straws. “There’s a reason for this, a simple explanation.”

“Harry. _Harry_.” Aldon broke through the panic that had started to cloud her vision, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. She jolted back in surprise. Aldon closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. “Stop lying to me,” he whispered. 

Harry sent a panicked look at the cracked door, up the stairs, and Aldon followed it, his eyes narrowing. He dropped her shoulder and took a step back.

“This isn’t the time or place, is it?” He asked, voice low with frustration. He huffed angrily. “Okay. I’ll stop asking.”

 _What?_ Harry mouthed, unable to find her voice.

“Like I said,” Aldon replied. “I do wish you would confide in me, but, well. Another time, perhaps? In the meantime,” and he gave her a beatific smile, “I’ll do my best to support Rigel in your stead. He needs a closer friend, doesn’t he?”

Harry gave him a terrified look. Behind him, Archie was shaking his head frantically. Aldon didn’t even turn to look at him.

“In fact,” he continued. “I think I’ll have to sit him down and have a nice, long chat with him about what he’s been up to lately as soon as we get back to school.”

Harry understood then that she had to avoid him at all costs as soon as they got back to school.

With a plan in mind, she was suddenly able to find her voice again. “Okay! I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. In the meantime, let’s get you going. Wouldn’t want my dad to worry.”

“Of course not,” Aldon agreed, prim as could be, and as she led him up the stairs she could hear from the floo room a sudden shuffling and the fire flaring for a moment. 

Harry exhaled slightly in relief, knowing her dad had left, and all but pushed Aldon to the fireplace. She stood silently and awkwardly to the side as Aldon stepped forward to grab a handful of floo powder from the mantle. 

Harry could see in his expression that he dearly wanted to stay, but something was holding him back. When he stood there, not moving, she chanced a glance at him. His jaw was working, and something desperate and determined was in his gaze.

“I’ll write,” he promised, floo powder escaping his grip as he paused in the fireplace. “Don’t pull away, alright?” 

_Easier said than done_ , she thought, but out loud all she could manage was, “Okay.”

“I mean it, Harry,” he caught her eyes and held them. “I consider you a friend. I don’t want to lose you, but something tells me you need to learn to ask for help when you need it.”

Harry opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, continuing, “We will talk about this. But just know I am here to help you, okay?”

“Fine,” Harry ground out. “Just go. I’ll see you in the summer.”

“Don’t avoid me,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about letters.

“I’ve never been able to for long,” she said honestly, and at last he was smiling again, and throwing down the powder. 


End file.
